


The World Has Truly Come to an End

by CountryDoctor



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Coming Out, Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Mind Meld, Multi, Post-Slash, Pre-Slash, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountryDoctor/pseuds/CountryDoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a  series called "The World Has Truly Come to an End."   It's a Kirk/Spock/McCoy story.  Kirk and Spock reveal to McCoy that they're in love with him.  Let's see how the story unfolds.</p><p> Betas are  Pamdizzle (Chapters 1-4), AKO (Chapter 5) and PaintedBird (Chapter 6)<br/>:o)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

They congregated in the mess hall, the three of them sitting at a table hidden away in a far corner. McCoy drained the last drop of milk from his glass before leaning back into the hard plastic chair, his stomach full and satisfied. Meanwhile, Jim’s eyes studied the Chief Medical Officer, raising a glass of grape juice to his already moistened lips.  Spock, as always, sat with his arms crossed, his deep brown irises focusing on the doctor, no sound parting from his lips.  McCoy felt his eyes morph into semi slits.  He _hated_ when the hobgoblin stared him down like that.  He wondered if Spock was gawking at him just to intimidate him.  Either way, it annoyed the hell out of him and if this staring contest continued, Spock _might_ get his feelings hurt.

 “Is something troubling you, Doctor?” Spock inquired perceptively.

The doctor’s jawline grew tight with slight irritation as his arms rested on the back of his chair. “Jim,” McCoy snapped, his voice sharp and direct.  “Tell your First Officer that I don’t appreciate his Vulcan mind tricks.”

“What mind tricks?” Spock asked, raising his brow at the Chief Medical Officer. “Must I remind you, yet again, that I cannot read your mind through eye contact alone?”

McCoy’s back straightened, his eyes widening with his irritation. “Now you listen here, Spock,” McCoy warned.

“Bones, Bones, Bones,” Jim interjected softly, his palms facing McCoy in hopes to calm him down. McCoy’s voice spread throughout the mess hall, drawing the eyes of surrounding crewmen.  Jim sighed apprehensively as his nerves were quaking, which both excited and embarrassed him.   Spock, on the other hand, just wanted to get this over with.  

“Now that the doctor has succeeded in gaining the attention of almost everyone in the room,” Spock said, averting his eyes to Jim, “I suggest we complete this task so we can return to our posts.”

“Now _that’s_ something Spock and I can agree on,” McCoy chimed, his finger gesturing towards the First Officer.  “I’m a busy man, Jim, and I got patients to see. Why are we sittin’ in this corner?  We’ve never sat here before and you’re being awfully damned quiet.”

  Jim smiled at McCoy’s observations as his cheeks blushed.  The doctor paid attention to him after all.  “You’re right, Bones.  This isn’t our usual spot in the mess hall and we are busy men.  So, let’s get this out of the way, shall we?”

 McCoy’s gut told him that Jim was rattled over something.  His forehead was damp with a light sheen of sweat and he seemed pensive, rather than smiling and yakking as he normally did. Jim was never this serious outside of a catastrophe and McCoy now wondered if his friend had come by some morbid news. McCoy’s body leaned closer to the table, his deep set blue eyes locked onto his captain’s chestnut colored ones.  “Get what out of the way?  Jim?  Spock, what the hell’s going on here?”

 Kirk swallowed as he felt his heart knock against his vocal cords.  For half a minute, he imagined himself swimming in McCoy’s eyes the way he swam in his pool as a boy in Iowa.  He filled his lungs with a small gulp of air and released it through his nostrils in order to come back to reality.  So he could finally speak again.  He needed to tell him.

  He’d held his attraction to Bones close to him for months, believing it to be a figment of his imagination.  He thought about the doctor as much as he thought about Spock, but often reminded himself that McCoy was “only a friend” and nothing beyond that. Then came the day when Jim lost his brother Sam and his Sister-in-Law, Aurulean.  He and his search party beamed down to Deneva as quickly as they could, but were unable to reach Sam and his wife in time. The reality that his brother no longer existed in the universe didn’t hit him until they were headed to their next mission.  Once it struck, Jim felt he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and while Spock did everything he could to comfort him, it was Bones who helped him grieve openly and freely.

On a night when Spock was working in the science lab, Jim had laid awake, weeping for his beloved brother when McCoy came into his chambers with a bottle of whisky and Southern kindness.  Jim remembered how McCoy placed the liquor on the nightstand and planted himself quietly beside him.  The Doctor wrapped an arm over his shoulder and allowed the Captain to lean his head against him while trembling with grief, releasing every bit of his sadness through tears.  Jim’s crying subsided as the doctor’s thin fingers gently massaged his hair, his ears listening to McCoy’s whiskey laden voice whispering, “I’ll _always_ be here for you, Jim Boy.  Just say the word an’ me an’ my whisky’ll be here.”  And McCoy remained at his side as Jim’s dry eyes finally rested and he drifted off to sleep.

Since then, he had longed for the Doctor to hold him again, silently yearning to stare into his soft blue eyes.  He often found himself watching Bones intensely when the doctor and Spock had their usual intellectual sparring matches—paying close attention to how the veins in his neck protruded with passionate anger, to his pronunciation of words interwoven with conviction. He felt embarrassed carrying on like a teenage girl in a 35 year old frame, hoping that no one noticed—Spock especially.

Spock, however, was _not_ oblivious to his bondmate’s affection for their mutual friend.  In fact, admiration registered in Jim’s tone of voice with an increase in frequency of forty point seven percent since the events of Deneva. However, rather than find it bothersome, Spock too was appreciative of Leonard in ways that surpassed the human expression of friendship.  Spock’s own attraction to the doctor had built slowly, but more so particularly after Doctor McCoy sacrificed himself on Minara II for the sake of himself and the Captain.  And despite their obvious ideological differences, McCoy was a man of integrity—a highly respected trait among both Humans and Vulcans. 

He too had attempted to keep his attraction ‘close to the vest,’ as humans say, but as he and Jim lay in bed, discussing daily occurrences as they often did, they found themselves on the subject of their CMO.  Spock eventually shared with Jim that his bondmate’s attraction to the doctor was both acknowledged and fully accepted.  The Vulcan also confessed that he too found their friend to be desirable—much to the relief of Jim.  Therefore, he and Jim decided to inform the doctor during their usual lunch gathering. 

So far Jim had, as expected, proven to be quite hesitant.

 “Bones…” Jim’s eyes shifted from left to right slightly, relieved that half the mess hall had emptied so they could speak freely.  “You know that Spock and I are together, correct?”

 The doctor’s forehead eased as he sucked his teeth with agitation, his back once again leaning against the cold chair.  “Of course I do, Jim.  The whole goddamn crew does!  Here I am thinking you were going to tell me about some—some alien disease you caught while on shore leave. Quit with the dramatics.   If something else is going on here, then just tell me.”

  “Well…”  Kirk shot at glance at Spock, who replied with a raised eyebrow.  Looking back at Bones’ baby blues, he let out a sigh.  Here goes _everything_.  “Bones…Spock and I…”

“We are—as you humans say—taken by you,” intersected Spock, who had grown admittedly a bit impatient with Jim’s hesitation.  “In fact, we have been for quite some time.  However, we did not know how to approach you with this information.  Because we congregate during lunch on a regular basis, it seemed logical that we tell you during this hour.” 

  “We want you to be with us, Bones,” Jim said, his arms resting on the table, his eyes reflecting unadulterated affection.  “We’ve fallen in love with you and I—we want to show you how much.”

“I believe you possess have qualities desirable in a life partner,” continued Spock, sliding closer to Jim.  “Furthermore, like Jim, I trust you with my life.”

  “Be with us, Bones.  We can’t see ourselves with anyone else but you.”

  Beads of sweat slid from McCoy’s neck as he stared back at Jim and Spock, speechless with his eyes and mouth wide open in shock.  He, Jim and the hobgoblin worked side by side on the bridge, during investigations on other planets and sometimes in sick bay when a red shirt lost a limb or their life.  He’d had no inkling that Jim felt for him in that manner—no suspicion what so ever.  _And the hobgoblin?!_ That green-blooded, pointy-eared walking storybook?!  Good Lord…the world has truly come to an end…wait…

  “Is this a practical joke?” McCoy heard himself ask. 

 The veneration that colored Jim’s face minutes ago morphed into confusion. “Bones…what are you talking about?”

 “This must be a practical joke of some sort,” replied McCoy reassuringly, releasing a chuckle from his thin lips.  “I’ve read about these in a history text I found at the Academy—read it to take my mind off my studies.  Now according to this text, a television host and—and cameras were involved and gullible people would fall for it.”  Waving an index finger at Jim and Spock, McCoy said, “You and the hobgoblin almost got me with your little proposition, but I caught on, see.”  His eyes scanned the empty lunch room.  “You must have hidden the cameras well!”

  “I assure you, Doctor,” stated Spock, his black tea shaded eyes cold suddenly, “that our ‘little proposition,’ as you call it, is not a practical joke.”

  The smile quickly faded from the doctor’s face as he realized his mistake.   This really wasn’t a joke in any way, shape or form…every word that was spoken to him was as real as the flesh clinging onto his muscle… _Aw shit_.  He wished for water to moisten his dry lips, but glided his tongue across them instead.  His chest tightened as the eyes of the Captain and Spock pierced through him, their glares burning a hole inside of him. McCoy remembered to slowly push air in and out of his lungs before he started to feel completely lightheaded.  He rose from his chair, holding on to the back of it to keep from tumbling.

 “I gotta go lie down,” muttered McCoy, voice husky as the words stumbled from his mouth.  “I’m not feeling too well at the present.”

  “Oh God, Bones…” Jim rose from his seat, concern written within his eyes as he reached his arm out to McCoy.  “Are you alright?”

 “I’m fine, Jim.  Just gotta...”  His voice trembled, confusing him. Fear overtook him as his heart punched his ribcage.  The mess hall overtook him, his breathing shortened as he imagined tables and chairs crushing his body.  He saw Jim and Spock reach out to him, but they moved in slow motion and were completely out of his grasp.  He needed to get the hell out of here!  He felt his black boots leading him away from the table and away from his friends.  He crossed the room so quickly that his ears failed to register Jim’s desperate calls as he hastily made for the exit.

           

 

 

           

  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last! Here is Part to of my McSpirk series. Sorry it took so long. Feedback is HIGHLY encouraged.
> 
> Beta by the wonderful Pamdizzle

 

          McCoy’s consciousness was close to being pulled beneath an undercurrent of slumber when melodious chimes brought him back to reality.  His eyes snapped open, widening and flickering rapidly, tightly squeezing shut before popping them open again.  The doctor quietly surveyed his surroundings as the fog clouding his mind slowly dissipated.  The wallpaper resembled pea soup and the soft lighting illuminating the room only magnified its unsightliness. From the corner from his eye, McCoy noticed the metallic blue flag perched in the corner, tiny gold tassels stitched along the border.  His sight then switched over to Khan, his people and Lieutenant Marla McGivers, who sat beside Khan with silent loyalty.  The doctor soon realized that he was in the court room and the sweet ringing he heard was Jim lightly tapping the gavel against the golden bell resting on the desk McCoy was resting his elbow on.

         As Jim sentenced Khan and his people to Ceti Alpha Five, McCoy mutely examined the 20th Century superhuman, wrestling with his fatigue.  On a better day, his mind ruminated on the bio results further favoring Khan’s biological superiority—findings worth publishing in Starfleet medical journals.  However, today wasn’t one to bask in the glow of future glories. Right now, his mind drifted back to his quarters, where soft warm blankets cradled his sleep-deprived frame.  

         After the court adjourned, McCoy peeled himself from the black chair and stretched the stiffness out of his spine. As a yawn tumbled from his throat, he felt a light brush on his shoulder as Jim walked past him.  McCoy matched the captain’s steady pace, tiredly and with slight apprehension, the scent of Jim’s aftershave unnerving him for some odd reason. Crossing into the elongated hallway, McCoy quietly slinked away from Jim’s side, averting his gaze onto the winding path leading to the turbolift.  But the doctor didn’t have the chance to stretch one leg in front of the other before he heard Jim’s voice ask,

         “What’s your take on the matter, Bones?”

          McCoy’s stomach twisted with discomfort as he spun around, his tired eyes locking onto his two friends.  After they sprung “the news” on him in the mess hall, he fared in dodging them for about three weeks. When avoidance was no longer an option, he assured their dealings with one another were brief and strictly professional. And he was all business, too…until his shift ended.  Every night, as his thumb and middle fingers twisted around a full whiskey glass, his mind conjured up some reasonable solution to the issue at hand before pushing the whole damn mess out of his head. 

          Even as the three of them were gawking at one another in the hallway like a human triangle, McCoy remained empty handed.  A solution to his dilemma, even all these weeks later, was not forthcoming.  He wordlessly cursed the god of his youth for not blessing him with a lie and quick disappearing act.  Nevertheless, he knew he had to give the man _some_ sort of answer.  Jim’s confidence as a Captain depended on McCoy’s words, needing the reassurance that only _he_ could give.

          “Well Jim,” the doctor replied after clearing away the tightness in his throat, “I think you did what any man would do:  you weighed the pros and cons and decided to follow your gut.  You didn’t want Khan and his people to waste away in a reorientation center. But I’m a little curious about what’ll happen once he and his party are beamed down to Ceti Alpha Five.”

          “I must concur with Doctor McCoy,” interjected Spock with a contemplative expression painting his face.  “It would be interesting to return to that world in a hundred years and discover what has become of it.” 

           Jim’s eyes shifted towards Spock, his hand softly stroking the back of his neck.  “I’d also be curious, Spock…I hope I made the right decision.”

          “You’ve done the best you can, Jim,” said McCoy, his tone slightly abrupt.  “Nos if y’all don’t mind, it’s been a long day and I’m exhausted.”

          Jim’s gaze swiveled back onto McCoy, his hazel eyes interlinked with the doctor’s blue ones.  His full archless brows were knotted with genuine concern. “Bones…is everything alright?”

          McCoy cringed with veiled unease, but his composure remained steady. “I’m fine, Jim,” the doctor falsely reassured.       

         “On the contrary, Doctor.  You are less than ‘fine’,” observed Spock, his baritone voice smooth and unwavering. “Judging by the redness of your scleras and your posture, it seems that your energy have reached maximum capacity and is now depleted.”

         “And you almost ran into the wall as you walked into the courtroom,” said Jim, his watchful gaze fixated on the doctor. 

          McCoy sighed heavily. He was hoping no one has seen that—especially these two.  Jim would bug him with his worrying and the hobgoblin---Shit! He’d _never_ hear the end of it.  “I’m just a little tired, Jim,” the doctor explained, waving a limp hand to the side carelessly. “Spock’s right.  I haven’t been sleeping lately with everything going on.  In case you’ve forgotten, the whole damn ship was taken over by superhumans.”

         “Sure.  This business with Khan took a lot out of us,” Jim agreed. “I think we all need a breather after all that.  Luckily we’re on shore leave in a couple of days, so we have something to look forward to.” McCoy nodded in response and before his lips parted to bid them a quick farewell, Jim’s hand suddenly rested tenderly on McCoy’s slender, but toned bicep. “Bones…we hope you’re ok.  We’ve been…worried because we haven’t spoken… _truly_ spoken to you in a while.  You _do_ know that you can confide in us if need be, don’t you?” 

        McCoy shuddered inside, swallowing hard and nervously as Jim’s eyes burrowed into him.  Jim’s gaze pleaded for some sort of sign that all was right between the three of them.  McCoy’s insides screamed for his mouth to utter _any_ one of many lines he rehearsed in his mind a million times over. But it refused to cooperate and his mental reflexes were slowed by fatigue.  Suddenly the anxiety that ensnared him three weeks ago nearly invaded him once more. Breathing in and out steadily, McCoy beat down the urge to sprint towards the turbolift. 

        “I know that, Jim and I appreciate the concern,” McCoy said, sliding his arm from beneath the captain’s grasp.  “But right now I need to get some shut eye.  I’m about ta fall out right here in the hallway.  I’ll see you in a couple days, gentlemen.”  He forced a tight smile before he turned and paced down the hallway.

       When McCoy was out of earshot, Jim released an exasperated sigh and shut his eyes as he threw his head back towards the ceiling.  “What the _hell_ did we do, Spock?” he pondered sadly when he opened his eyes again, turning them towards his lover.

       “Our declaration appears to have unsettled him more than we anticipated,” the Vulcan deduced, hands locked behind his back. “I will admit that, in retrospect, we could have spared him both the humiliation and trepidation by approaching him in a more appropriate manner.”

       “How else could we have done it?” Jim asked, his face reflecting distress and slim annoyance.  “We had an ample opportunity and took full advant--” His rant was abruptly silenced by the Vulcan’s raised eyebrows and unmistakable expression of skepticism.  “We could have done this thing another way,” concluded the captain, thoughtfully pursing his pale, moist lips.

       Spock nodded at Jim’s words.   “Precisely.  Logically, there are ten point seven alternatives we could have selected in regards to McCoy. Confessing our admiration for him during our lunch period should not have been one of them.”

       The captain’s face softened as he considered Spock’s argument.  He was right, of course.  They opened up a can of worms on Bones without even considering the aftermath of their actions.  It was no wonder he reacted the way he did—everything was wrong about it: the location, the lack of privacy they’d afforded their friend to have an initial reaction.  Jim and Spock only wished to tell him—show him how much love they shared for him.  Now, they may have sabotaged a valuable and meaningful friendship beyond repair.

      Spock pressed a consoling hand against the glossy lime green fabric concealing his bondmate’s lower back. Instantly, the intense combination of Jim’s remorse, guilt and exasperation penetrated through the Vulcan’s lean slender frame.  Though it was his bondmate’s prerogative to respond to the situation as he deemed appropriate, Spock found it illogical for Jim to “shoulder the blame,” as humans put it.  He too participated and had deliberated over the possibility of Doctor McCoy terminating all interaction among the three of them outside of a professional setting.

      “Do not despair, Jim,” Spock finally said softly, removing his hand from his bondmate’s back.  “McCoy, if or when time permits, will decide to address this matter in whatever method best suits his needs.  For now, however, we shall accommodate him by placing further distance between him and us.” 

       Jim inhaled and exhaled heavily before nodding his head hesitantly.  “You’re right, Spock,” he said.  “We just have to give him time and more distance. It’s _killing_ me that we can’t right things this instant…but granting him space is the least we can do.”   He fell silent as he shot a troubled glance at the Vulcan before looking straight ahead again.  “There’s nothing we can do about _anything_ by just standing in the middle of the hallway.  Let’s get the hell out of here and get back to our posts.  We have work to do before shore leave.”  Spock bowed his head silently in agreement as the two men headed towards the turbolift.

 

 

           

           

                       

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

           Jim, Spock and McCoy solidified at the transporter station of Planet Argelius II, silently groaning at the traffic moving about in the lobby area. The trio stepped off the platform, shuffling through the hoard of moving bodies, shifting their frames and traveling bags to the side, muttering “Excuse me…pardon me,” though their modest tones only blended in with the chorus of voices immersed in conversation.   When they finally crossed the threshold, they felt the cool spring breeze breathe against their bodies.  Their eyes flicked up upon hearing flocks of sea gulls soaring overhead, above a vast blanket of ocean that sparkled beneath rays of the afternoon sun. The winged creatures seemed to almost disappear into thick cumulus clouds decorating the azure sky.

         Jim’s amber shaded eyes examined the area, the corner of his silky pink lips curling upward.  Native Argelians crowded the docks, unloading imported merchandise from shuttle crafts hovering close to the edge and onto the worn, sturdy wooden planks.  Exporters exchanged local currency with younger, more handsome merchants who soon hoisted heavy bags onto their shoulders. Miles away from the dock, the captain saw waves as high as walls crash into boulders, splashing, rolling back and forth rhythmically, swaying as they tumbled towards the rocks again.  Not only is Argelius known as the Land of Pleasure, but for its coastal shores and the weekend long public market that never failed to crowd the transporter station. The captain filled his lungs with air and exhaled, diminishing ribbons of disquiet that plagued him for three weeks.

         Spock ascertained that he succumbed to the therapeutic effects of Argelius II.  As warm sunbeams crowned his night black hair, his internal defenses descended while his consciousness journeyed back to Vulcan, where, as a child, the soles of his boots united with the smooth, dehydrated sand.  Where he attempted to mind meld with I-Chaya, his small fingers hidden in the sehlet’s soft brown mane as purrs reverberated from his throat. He surveyed the crowd of natives among him.  Based on Spock’s observations, the Argelians seem tranquil and oblivious to the pandemonium currently surrounding them. He recollected the murder of a young Argelian woman of which Lieutenant Engineer Scott was accused.   Yet it appeared that that particular incident, however unfortunate, no longer occupied the minds of the natives.  Despite his misunderstanding of the coping mechanisms of humans, he found the Argelians and their Hedonistic customs quite fascinating. 

         McCoy stood behind his two friends silently, rolling his neck and shoulders while the tingling that surged through his body slowly dissipated.  He grumbled under his breath peevishly as he roughly shifted the strap of the leather duffel bag slung across his chest. He didn’t care how skilled Scotty was or how many times Jim called him old fashioned, he still didn’t trust that damn transporter.  For all he knew, particles of him floated somewhere in space, intertwined with the darkness of the universe, scattered and ruined, never be discovered. 

        If any part of his essence were to disappear into space, McCoy would happily elect the dreams he’d been having as of late.  They’d started disturbing his slumber soon after Jim and Spock had basically propositioned him.  Every night, when he drifted off, the images of him and his two closest friends switched on, reeling in his mind like the old picture shows he watched as a child.  In McCoy’s dreams, the three of them occupied every inch of space in his bed, their nude bodies exposed to semi-darkness in McCoy’s quarters.  Their shadows danced rhythmically on the bare walls, entangled and unidentifiable. McCoy’s back sank into a mattress as soft as a thousand pillows as smooth warm hands explored his body, the mattress shifting beneath him as his torso arched upward, his nails raking against Jim’s tanned muscular back.  A loud cry _always_ tore from McCoy’s throat as Jim’s tongue sensuously licked his hard tiny nipple.  Spock’s long fingers caressed his lightly furred sac, the Vulcan’s mouth filled with McCoy’s swollen sex.   It was only when he was on the verge of emptying himself down the hobgoblin’s throat that McCoy’s eyes snapped open, a sheen of sweat glossing his forehead, his heart pounding rapidly inside his chest.  The dreams were sometimes so vivid that he woke up with his hand tucked inside his boxers, his knuckles and outer thigh wet and sticky.

      The doctor shuddered internally.  _They can’t know about the dreams,_ McCoy mused silently.  _Never--_

      “Today, gentlemen, is a marvelous day,” Jim observed suddenly, bringing McCoy back to reality.  “The sun is out. The Argelians are in high spirits.  And the breeze is absolutely perfect.”

      “Affirmative,” Spock said matter-of-factly, his dark eyes reflecting a smile.  “I must say, Jim, that Argelius is quite breathtaking.”

      “We certainly came at the right time,” chimed the captain, the signature Kirkian smile gracing his lips.  “They’re setting up for their public market.  I guess you know where my money’s going.”  His gaze then locked with McCoy’s blue ones. “Thank you, Bones, for suggesting Argelius.  It’s becoming one of my favorite places.”

          Jim had turned to weigh Bones’ reaction to the planet, his eyes seeking that familiar, often comforting gaze. He had adhered to Spock’s advice about giving their friend some distance after that botched encounter in the mess. Still, he missed the doctor’s kindness, the warmth and understanding those eyes always seemed to broadcast when Jim was feeling the heaviness of his role as Captain.

         He’d hoped the distance would give Bones the opportunity to feel the absence of their relationship, and perhaps to reconsider what the closeness they shared, what it amounted to. That warmth wasn’t there now, however, nor was there any shadow of the usual anticipation or humor that always seemed to appear when they were on shore leave. Instead, Jim could only glimpse the fine edges of the same anxiety and wariness which had become standard these past weeks. He berated himself again for believing their confession would have resulted in anything but the present.

         Jim suddenly felt a hand softly settle on his shoulder, interrupting he and the doctor’s staring contest.  The corner of his eye caught McCoy’s swift, relieved intake of breath.  “Gentlemen,” Spock said, his silky voice travelling into the captain’s ear.  “According to my calculations, we have stood near the docks for seven point nine minutes and forty-five seconds and it is becoming rather monotonous.  I suggest we, as you humans say, ‘move along.’”

       “I actually agree with Spock,” McCoy said, his eyes scanning the mass of people around him. “This crowd’s gettin’ outta hand. I’d rather not get trampled to death on the first day.”

       “You’re both right,” Jim agreed, turning to face his lover, his broad grin reverting back to a quiet smile.  “We’ve been standing here long enough and I can only be bumped into for so long.”  He stepped away from the two men, Spock’s grasp slipping off his shoulder.  Clapping his hands together, his eyes switching from one man to the other, the captain announced, “I say we have lunch at the Full Moon Inn and enjoy the market after we check in and get settled.  Luckily, the inn’s only a couple of blocks from here, so we’ll be there in no time.  Shall we?”

        The two men nodded, the soles of their standard Starfleet boots clapping against the brick path that led to a narrow side street. McCoy walked beside Spock, serving as a barrier between he and Jim. Normally, Jim would be in the center, but there was something about the way Spock quietly and calmly put one foot in front of the other, his gaze always forward, setting both he and the doctor at ease in the midst of the awkwardness permeating all of their interactions. Not that the uneasiness didn’t include Spock. In fact, every time a pedestrian pushed McCoy toward the Vulcan and their skin touched, it took every ounce of will he possessed not to flinch ten feet in the other direction.

        Spock’s hand felt like cashmere against the doctor’s fingers, its warmth kissed by sun rays and Vulcan biology.  Whenever their skin unexpectedly met, something inside McCoy shifted and tumbled, rippling through his slender frame like an aftershock.  Suddenly, McCoy found himself…yearning…yes… _yearning_ for full contact with the Vulcan’s hand, wishing to delicately run his thumb and forefinger against its long, thin digits before causally intertwining their fingers.

        The thought made him swiftly clinch his free hand around the strap of his bag, his palms wet with sweat and his knuckles whitening under the pressure.  As the men walked on, the doctor stared ahead, his eyes fixated on blue horizon surrounded by architecture sculpted out of stone.  His heart pounded against his ribs as waves of confusion with arousal swirled within him. As heat rushed to his face, his cheeks burning while the blood in his veins teetered on the edge of combustion.

        A wave of relief flooded McCoy when the trio finally reached the Full Moon Inn. The aroma of pineapple soaked the air, unraveling the threads of tension in McCoy’s shoulders.  His eyes caught puff of smoke rolling from somewhere on the right, curiously following the wispy cloud as it pirouetted up towards the ceiling before disappearing in fragments.  His glance causally fell on a group of strangers surrounding a silver hookah, a hearty chorus of laugher occasionally rumbling into the lobby. 

         In the same area, hidden beneath the thin veil of tobacco smoke, an attractive Argelian woman entertained a much older female guest on a crush velvet couch, their bodies indenting the crimson cushions, their legs barely touching.  The Argelian’s slender arm was wrapped around the other woman’s waist, whispering inaudible poetics into her ear.  The woman’s fingers twirled a lock of the Argelian woman’s auburn hair, her eyes closed as she lustfully bit her lower lip.

           McCoy studied them for a while, watching as the older woman’s tongue snaked across her upper lip when her young lover secured her elegantly manicured hand around her waist to pull her closer. Her lips moved with inaudible whispers against the other woman’s throat as her hand inched upward beneath the thin fabric to rub circles over her bare stomach. The older woman’s head dropped backward, her closed eyes pointed to the ceiling and her light blonde hair captured by the soft cushion as she raked her fingers over the Argelian’s forearm. While he couldn’t hear it himself, he knew she was moaning when the strangers appreciating the hookah were suddenly watching them as well. 

         The doctor observed silently as they drank in the women, taking mental snapshots of every curve of their bodies, exploring the women with invisible hands, stripping away articles of clothing with lustful stares.  The two women were now entangled, sinking deeper into the couch, becoming lost as their breasts touched. McCoy lost himself in this display of exhibitionism, the room suddenly dimming as his consciousness concentrated on the human picture show reeling before his very eyes.  It wasn’t the women who caught the doctor’s attention, but how they relished each other, their seductive movements unadulterated and unashamed. 

_If only…_

     “Bones!”

      McCoy was quickly snatched back into the hotel lobby when he heard a familiar voice call his nickname.  His eyes fluttered as they swished over onto Jim, Spock and a young attractive male desk clerk.  Six pairs of eyes were fixated on him, flashing various degrees of disquiet. 

     “Oh…I’m sorry, Jim.  You need me to do somethin’?”

      “Yes. I need to you to get the security code to your room…”  The captain’s amber eyes never left the doctor, his brows dipping slightly with a mixture of concern and impatience.   

      The doctor’s blue eyes widened, the redness shading his cheeks once again.  “Oh!  I see,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning upward awkwardly.  “I didn’t hear you call my name.”

      He stepped up to the desk and retrieved the security code, hoping not to cause himself further embarrassment. A strained silence fell over them as they turned away from the front desk and approached the turbolift.

      “Open,” Spock commanded when they reached the lift.  The door swished open and the trio stepped in, concealing them into a tight space.  As the First Officer gave directions to the voice operated lift, McCoy felt Jim’s gaze upon him the entire time, his stare smoldering into the side of his face.  His insides swirled like a brewing storm as anxiety rose up to his throat, anticipating questions he did not care to answer.  The lift stopped on the third floor, McCoy being the first to cross its threshold.  His pulse quickened, his throat tightening as the blood rushed to his ears.

       “Doctor, your complexion is abnormal.  Are you feeling unwell?” McCoy’s mind snapped back into reality, meeting the mahogany eyes of the chiseled-faced Vulcan and the amber ones exhibiting apprehension. The men stopped walking, standing in the middle of an empty hallway.

       “Spock’s right,” Jim intervened, the man’s watchful gaze made the redness in McCoy’s cheeks deepened.  “Are you alright?”

       “If you must know,” the doctor replied, his tone laced with slight annoyance with himself.  “It’s probably ‘cause of that death trap you call a transporter.  My blood pressure goes up every time I have to fool around with that damn thing.”

       Spock’s eyebrows rose, his dark brown eyes exhibiting concern despite his composed demeanor. “Perhaps we should escort you to the inn’s medical office,” the Vulcan suggested, the smoothness of his voice interwoven with a sincerity that unnerved McCoy.  “Frequent experiences of heightened blood pressure are a precursor--if not a symptom of--several human medical events including heart attack, stroke and kidney failure. Any adverse physical condition of a crew member—”

      “Don’t lecture me about high blood pressure, Mr. Spock” McCoy retorted, pointing a thumb to his chest.  “You’re looking at the Chief Medical Officer of USS Enterprise.”

      “And your occupation aboard my ship is acknowledged, but I cannot afford to lose my Chief Medical Officer,” argued Jim lightly, standing inches away from McCoy.  “If you’re suffering from any physical ailments, Mister, you will seek medical attention. Captain’s orders.”

      “I’m fine, Jim. The only “medical attention” I need is a double shot of brandy and a nap.  I think I’m going to take a rain check on lunch and the public market.” 

      “I highly doubt, Doctor, that an alcoholic beverage would alleviate your sudden onset of hypertension.  Unless this is your illogical way of practicing what is considered holistic medicine.”

      “I beg to differ, Mr. Spock.  Besides, I’m a little tired and ya’ll know how I feel about crowds.  I’ll catch you gentlemen later?”  And before either friend parted their lips to utter a word, McCoy turned and walked toward his room, the picture show in the lobby swaying around in his mind.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

            _McCoy inhaled deeply the light aroma of fresh pineapple which filled the hookah lounge. The scent nearly intoxicated him as he relished in the lightheadedness produced by the thin veil of smoke that swirled slowly before his eyes. He enjoyed the occasional cigar every once in a while, but they never had this sort of effect on him. The sweet scent of pure shisha flavored with one of his favorite fruits hushed his thoughts._

_A quiet sigh tumbled from the doctor’s throat, his lips curling upward as his nude frame sank further into the crush velvet couch.  He was aware that he was the only person unclothed, yet he harbored no shame or modesty.  He quietly welcomed this level of raw inhibition as the  cushions embraced him and kissed his skin with unimaginable softness._

_On either side of him sat Jim and Spock, their bodies pressed closely against him.  Jim’s smile radiated the familiar warmth that once brought comfort to McCoy’s spirit.  He spoke not a word, but his amber colored eyes reflected a love that was soul-deep.  Spock’s eyes expressed the same, the corner of his mouth quirked as he silently gazed at the doctor.  Both of their arms were wrapped around McCoy’s slender waist, their intimate embrace nearly overwhelmed the doctor._

_McCoy’s heart throbbed against his chest as his two friends leaned in closer.  In unison, Jim and Spock’s mouths touched the nape of his neck and the doctor moaned deliciously while soft moist lips caressed his skin.  Warm hands massaged his waist, his lightly furred belly and his toned thighs.  His arms hugged Jim and Spock’s laps.  McCoy’s digits gripped their strong thighs and his nails sometimes raked against the black oppressive fabric covering their skin._

_Suddenly, Jim’s lips slipped from McCoy’s neck, much to the doctor’s disappointment.  He then lowered his head and began sucking on his erect nipple._

_“Oh Damn,” McCoy moaned breathlessly as he closed his eyes and was engulfed with pleasure generated by Jim’s moist tongue.  His back arched, the nerve endings beneath the rosy ringlet of flesh throbbed and ached from intense stimulation.  The doctor’s palm traveled up and down Jim’s back, digging nails into the captain’s back whenever he playfully bit on McCoy’s tender flesh._

_The doctor felt Spock brush against his thighs before he suddenly closed his mouth around his stiffened sex.  McCoy purred as the Vulcan took it all in before he pulled back, his warm tongue licking the weeping tip._

_McCoy shuttered and hummed as he experienced the sensations of every touch, his heart fluttering, his insides tingling from the delight of being explored—enjoyed affectionately.  He pressed his nails against Jim’s flesh as white hot emissions quickly traveled the length of his sex, seconds away from pouring into Spock’s eager mouth---_

        McCoy’s eyelids snapped open, blinking rapidly in an attempt to flicker the vivid dream from his consciousness.  He scanned his surroundings without moving and quickly realized that he was lying in bed in his room at the inn.  The doctor twisted his head to look at the chronometer on the nightstand.  The electric red numbers read 1900 hours.

 _Seven PM._ McCoy mused wordlessly as he hoisted himself up steadily and swung his legs off the bed.  He didn’t recall even drifting off after devouring the steak and potatoes he ordered hours earlier. He released a hefty sigh, his slender frame weighed down by the after effects of chugging a half bottle of Jack Daniels _.  Smooth move, Lenny Boy_ , he thought embarrassingly to himself as he squeezed his eyes shut to stop the dull throbbing in his head.  _A half bottle of Jack?  Yeah.  Real smart._

      Suddenly his eyes popped open again when his stomach began to rumble and churn.  He hurriedly dislodged himself from the mattress and sprinted to the bathroom as he felt his lunch rush up through his esophagus.  Within seconds of kneeling over the porcelain toilet bowl, he regurgitated liquid chunks of steak, mashed potatoes with gravy and whiskey.  His chest heaved as his lungs gasped for oxygen and coughing.  He swallowed hard, yet grimaced when the mixture of stomach acid, starch and booze assaulted his tongue.  

      After he caught his breath, a sigh stumbled from his dry throat.  He sluggishly pushed himself up, one hand gripping the lip of the head while he steadily gathered to his feet.  Still lightheaded from all the nausea. McCoy managed to reach the mirror without plummeting and cracking his head open on the tiles.  He twisted both sink handles and water tumbled into the sink, swirling noisily down the drain.

      McCoy caught some of the running water with cupped hands and splashed his face once, twice.  After he patted his face dry with a wash cloth, the doctor’s eyes fell on the reflection staring back at him. The man in the mirror was unrecognizable: his hair was somewhat disheveled, his eyes bloodshot and watery from the strain of his sudden sickness, his skin devoid of all color.  McCoy stared at the man looking back at him, fixated on his hardened expression, his compressed lips.  Despite the emotions painted on his face, his eyes glowed with a fatigue and bone-deep sadness of a man who wasted a year too many fighting a losing battle.  The doctor leaned in closer towards his reflection, their gazes locked intensely.

     “My name is Leonard Horatio McCoy,” he recited, his voice steady, yet hoarse.  “I was born on January 20, 2227 to David and Eleanora McCoy in Atlanta, Georgia.  I am the father of two beautiful, strong, intelligent young women—Joanna and Barbara McCoy.  I graduated with honors from the University of Mississippi’s School of Medicine.  I joined Starfleet in 2253 and practiced medicine on some of the finest ships in the galaxy.  I am now the Chief Medical Officer of the USS Starship Enterprise NCC-1701…and...”  McCoy swallowed down the anxiety creeping up his throat.  “And I’m in love with my two best friends, Captain James T. Kirk and Spock of Vulcan.”

     After he spoke the last sentence, he stared wordlessly at his now softened reflection.  Lightening didn’t tear through the window and electrify him.  The ceiling didn’t crumble and entomb him under heaps of debris.  Only a deafening silence surrounded him. He just stared ahead, trembling as his heart pounded frantically against his chest.  At that moment, his thoughts traveled back to the night before his wedding when, at three in the morning, the 22 year old McCoy had stood quietly in the bathroom, gazing at himself in the mirror. 

     Raw agony radiated from his reflection’s eyes as tears moistened his pale cheeks.  Other men would blame it on a case of wedding day jitters or late night stress.  To be fair, he _did_ just graduate with a doctorate last month and his budding medical career was gaining some attention in Georgia.  And despite her temper, Jocelyn was a great girl—the kind of girl any man with common sense would dream of spending the rest of his life with.  

     But she wasn’t the problem and neither was stress nor late minute contemplations about commitment.  The problem was that McCoy knew who he was and what his soul yearned for.  Within the deep wells of his spirit he recognized that, when Jocelyn held him at night or whispered his name as they made love, his very being hungered for the touch of another man—Mark Rousseau.  Mark was not only his childhood best friend, but his first lover—Hell, his first for a lot of things. Until Mark, he didn’t know whether it was possible for him to fall in love. On countless nights, while lying on grassy hills gazing at the stars, they talked about joining Starfleet together.  The two boys would explore the galaxy together on the same ship: Mark as a starship captain while McCoy would be his CMO.  To McCoy, a future with his first love was one he looked forward to.

     So when Mark and his family moved from Atlanta, McCoy nearly fell apart from love sickness.  He wasn’t eating or sleeping very much and he only grew worse when he found out from his parents that Mark begun dating a girl he met at school. He became so withdrawn that his parents thought he needed to see a shrink.  McCoy eventually returned to his own self and figured that, if Mark could move on with someone else (and with a _girl_ no less), so could he.  So McCoy and Jocelyn started seeing one another.  A part of him was attracted to her and she was a distraction from the heartache.  However, she was no match for that inner desire for his first true love.

     In fact, that inner desire was one of the few reasons McCoy often occupied a corner in the University medical library or the lab, burying himself in work until the morning hours.  At first, his wife thought he slept with other women, convinced that some “dorm whore” was the motivation behind McCoy’s walking through the door of their apartment at odd hours.  When he denied it, she probed and interrogated with anger and suspicion dripping from her tone.  No answer was valid enough—at least not the explanations he conjured up, so an explosion of tempers followed.  The couple hurled venomous words at one another which always resulted in McCoy storming down the hall towards his study and Jocelyn tumbling onto the couch, head hung low with hot tears streaming down her face.

     This sequence was a typical occurrence until she moved out of the apartment a week before their sixth year anniversary.  McCoy remembered the day when the cold glare took residence within Jocelyn’s brown eyes.  Packed suitcases stood next to her feet as one year old Barbara slept peacefully in her arms.  Clay Treadway, the man she cheated on him with, was loading her, Joanna and Barbara’s luggage into the trunk of his car, ignoring his lover’s now ex-husband.  As far as McCoy was concerned, Treadway saw this as the ultimate revenge for clocking him in the face in high school.  But what caused his heart to ache intensely was watching his five year old daughter Joanna crying helplessly from the backseat of Treadway’s car, her small lips mouthing “Daddy.” 

     His focus returned back to the here and now, to his bathroom at the Full Moon Inn. McCoy realized where he went wrong and why Jocelyn drove away from their apartment with Treadway.  It wasn’t only because he submerged himself in lab reports or test tubes filled with thick crimson liquid.  Oh, no.  She left because of the _reasoning_ behind his actions.  His work didn’t touch his shoulder and ask if he was ok or interrogate him with questions no reasonable answer would satisfy.  His work—and the praise it generated—did its duty.  Played its role as he had done.

    At the same time, McCoy became unreachable to Jocelyn, a ghost of a man whose desire were unmet and was growing tired of keeping up appearances.  He knew he couldn’t surrender his love to her whole heartedly and eventually the constant pretending hardened him.  No, he never stepped out on her, but nevertheless felt like he was unfaithful.  He remembered thinking that he was failing her and their little girls and it was only a matter of time before she wised up and jumped ship while she had the common sense God gave her. 

    The doctor blinked back the warm tears that pricked his eyes. It made no goddamn sense to deal with this psychological sleight of hand he tried fooling himself with.  No amount of booze, awards or workaholism shielded him from a truth that he fought vigorously to elude until recently:  he not only longed for the company of men, but two in particular who shared a room a few doors down from him.    

   “Well, Lenny ol’ boy,” he muttered quietly to his reflection, “the chickens have finally come home to roost.  You know what’cha gotta do.”  His smiled weakly at the man in the mirror before he went into his bedroom in search of his hangover pills.  He and the boys had a lot of catching up to do.

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After reading the version of Chapter 5 that I posted, I decided to make some changes. I just needed to add more. I hope you like this version. 
> 
> Feedback and reviews are appreciated as always.
> 
> Beta by AKO

             

   “Heya, Jim,” the doctor greeted calmly, hoping his anxiety wasn’t evident in his tone.  You mind if I come in?”

   The Captain nodded.  “Of course.

   Jim stepped aside and McCoy entered, hands knotted behind his back.  His gaze immediately averted to Spock, who was crossing the room toward them.  His throat was dry and he yearned for a glass of whiskey, but the hangover pills reminded him of the sickness he suffered an hour prior.  Shivering internally, McCoy shoved the notion of booze out of his mind.  _Time to put on put your big boy boots_ , he thought.

   “I figured it was time for us to talk,” McCoy confirmed.  Jim parted his lips to speak, but McCoy raised his hand.

   “Please. Hear me out.”  He walked over to the dresser and leaned against it in case his weakening knees embarrassed him. “I know I’ve been off for the past three weeks and there’s no excuse for it…I’m sorry.”

  “No, Bones,” Jim responded, shaking his head.  “Spock and I should be the ones apologizing.”

  “We’ve acknowledged,” interjected Spock, “that approaching you in the mess hall was not only inappropriate, but a miscalculation on our part.”

  “Look, Bones.  We realize we made a mistake, but our friendship shouldn’t suffer because of it.”

  “Though we continue to experience a significant level of admiration for you, we do not wish to produce further discomposure.  Therefore, we would rather maintain a platonic bond than have no correspondence.”

  McCoy stared at his two friends, processing the sentences that were just spoken to him. A fraction of him struggled with being grateful that Jim wasn’t hurling curse words while Spock killed him softly with cold glares. The other half was relieved that they wanted to still give him a chance.  Suddenly, he chuckled to himself, shaking his head back and forth.  His two friends exchanged glances, not sure of what they’ve missed.

  “If this is your way of sayin’ ya miss me,” McCoy responded, his mouth twisted into a smile, “then I’m flattered.”  His smile then slowly faded.   “And, for the record, the locale wasn’t the problem, Fellas.  Hell, y’all coulda sprung the news on me in my _quarters_ an’ I woulda reacted the same way.”

  “And your reaction would still be quite understandable,” the Vulcan agreed.

   McCoy shook his head once more. “’Understandable’ doesn’t mean ‘excusable,’ Hobgoblin.  I coulda just talked to you two instead of actin’ like a damned fool.”  McCoy sighed.  “What y’all said to me that day poked a sleepin’ bear.  I thought I tucked that part of me away…but then came the two of you and the incident, so I panicked.”

  “Panicked?” the Captain asked, his forehead crinkled with concern.

  “I myself do not quite understand,” added Spock, his eyebrow raised.

   The doctor averted his eyes away from Jim and Spock.  He wished for the floor to split open where he stood and engulf him.  But he didn’t come all this way to head for the hills now.  They _needed_ to know.  He swallowed down the disquiet straining his throat and flicked up his gaze onto his two friends and—hopefully—future lovers.

  “I’m attracted to men.  Always have been,” McCoy confessed.  “I thought I could keep foolin’ everybody—myself included.  Truth be told, I didn’t wanna put up with an achin’ heart again.”  His eyes were bright with unshed tears.  “But I’m crazy about you two.  Wanted to tell ya so many times.”

  Jim and Spock listened silently, their hearts heavy with sympathy.  For years, McCoy had worked closely with them and suspected nothing.  The fact that he did not disclose long ago did not phase the two men.  If anything, they wondered how he carried such a burden all these years.

  Jim and Spock stepped closer to their friend.  While the Vulcan rested a hand on the doctor’s shoulder, Jim held McCoy’s face between palms.  “It’s all right, Bones,” the Captain promised.  “You don’t have to suffer in silence anymore.”

  Jim tipped McCoy’s head forward and lightly kissed his temple.  He knew the solution was temporary, but it was the least he could do to cease his friend’s discomfort.

  The warmth radiating from Jim’s skin silenced McCoy’s troubled spirit and the ache that weighed it down steadily subsided.  He found himself reacting to Jim’s affections, first planting his lips on his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheek.  He then canted his head and brushed his lips against the Captain’s collarbone before pressing them onto the nape of his neck.

  Jim swallowed, almost succumbing to the sudden contact.  His fantasies often ruminated on Bones’ mouth and its texture against his skin.  But he silently questioned whether his friend was even in the right mind.  He tried disconnecting from McCoy, but the doctor roughly pulled him closer, almost making them tumble towards the dresser.  

  “Bones!” Jim called, managing to separate from the doctor before he completely surrendered to the undercurrent of their desire.

  “What’s the matter?” McCoy panted, searching Jim’s face for assurance.  “Ya want to, don’t you?”

  “Of course.  But—“

  “But what, Jim?”

  “I don’t…do you know what you’re doing?”

  “I’m fine, Darlin’.”  He brushed Jim’s cheek with his index finger, his blue irises sparkling.  “Let’s make love, the three of us.”

  “Are you certain, Doctor?” Spock inquired.

   McCoy encircled his arm around the Vulcan’s waist and drew him close.  The doctor pressed the side of his face against Spock’s collarbone, taking in his sweet mysterious scent.

  “It’s Leonard, Spock.  And yes.  I want you.  I’ve wanted you and Jim for a long time.”

   McCoy then lifted his face towards the Vulcan and their lips touched. The doctor moaned, enjoying the softness of his new lover’s mouth like a thirsty man would a fountain of water.

   A frisson of heat rushed down Spock’s body as their tongues danced, twisted.  He reveled in the sensations of the human’s flow of emotions:  anticipation, desire, lust, adoration, reassurance.  He hummed when Leonard pulled up the back of his shirt and proceeded to caress his back with a warm palm.

   Jim watched as Spock and Bones experienced one another, his attention more focused on the doctor.  A moment ago, his face was cradled in his hands, eyes reflecting a sadness that was disheartening.  Now it was clear that he was no longer inhibited by secrecy.

  The Captain reached out and placed his hand over McCoy’s.  Without breaking away from Spock, the doctor closed the gap between them. Jim chuckled before touching his lover’s neck with moist lips, shuddering as Bones’ delicious sounds vibrated against his mouth.

  Spock disconnected his lips from Leonard’s, to the disappointment of his new lover.  The Vulcan then seductively slid his long lashes against the other’s cheek as his mouth descended towards the other side of his neck.  Moans tumbled from McCoy’s throat, waves of arousal rising and twisting within him.  His heart fluttered, responding to sensations generated by warm lips and hands.  The bulge in his pants twitched as visions of their nude bodies intertwining swirled in his mind.

  “I think we need to take this somewhere else,” the doctor panted, his mouth quirking into a half smile.  He then slid from the space between his two lovers and began moving towards the bed.

  Spock placed his hand on McCoy’s shoulder and their eyes met.

  “What is it, Darlin’?”

  “Leonard, I must inform you that you and I cannot be physically intimate unless we mind meld.”

  McCoy felt some of his prior trepidation returning.  He wasn’t too keen on the idea of the hobgoblin poking around in his brain.  Yet his spirit yearned for connection with Spock and, since the mind melding came with the territory, it was something he just had to get used to.  “That’s fine with me,” assured McCoy.  “Just let me know before you start.  Is that a deal?”

  “Yes, Leonard.  It is a deal.”

  “Good.”  The doctor blushed.  He smiled tenderly and nodded towards the bed.  “Now let’s go make up for lost time.”

  Jim and Spock followed their lover’s lead, their eyes fixated on him as he peeled off his shirt and dropped it carelessly onto the floor.  Their gazes traced the curve in his slender back that traveled down to his firm backside.

  McCoy climbed onto the mattress and moved backwards towards the headboard.  He leaned his head against the dark wood, his eyes resting on the two men tossing their garments haphazardly onto the carpet.  The doctor found himself silently appreciating the contours of Jim and Spock’s bodies.  Every fiber of them seemed sculpted with perfection.  The unshakable urge to touch himself broke through and he began to massage the fabric concealing the throbbing bulge.

  The doctor caught his breath when his two lovers approached the bed.  Spock slid next to him and enfolded his arm around McCoy’s waist, pressing tepid lips onto his cheeks and the corner of his eyes.  Jim crept into the space between McCoy’s legs and moved the doctor’s hand away from his crotch. The Captain’s fingers unclasped his lover’s pants and meticulously lowered the zipper.

  With McCoy’s assistance, Jim removed the oppressing fabric and flung them elsewhere.  He bowed and impressed his thighs with luscious kisses.  The faint scent of Axe body wash made the Captain tremor and hum with eyes closed.

  “God damn,” McCoy whispered, his back pushing itself against the firm mattress.  Each kiss and caress sent jolts of arousal through his frame and it was undoing him.  “Somebody take me.”

   Jim hoisted himself up slightly and retrieved the lube sitting inches away from Bones’s thigh.  After slickening his index and middle digits , the Captain traced the split concealing his lover’s tight entrance.  Then, without reluctance, he glided his fingers into McCoy.  He felt Bones jerk initially before submitting to the penetration.  As Bones straddled the Captain’s fingers, Jim’s hips rolled against the mattress, his own sex pulsing with arousal.  Occasionally, his mouth kissed his lover’s thighs, lips quirking as cries of pleasure reached his ears.

   Meanwhile, Spock closed his mouth around Leonard’s erect nipple.  His lover’s body thrashed and twisted beneath the Vulcan’s palm as he stimulated nerve endings hidden beneath flesh.

   “Ah—AH!  Oh god!” McCoy panted.  His body felt like it was incinerating from the constant stimulation.  It was only a matter of time.  “Jim—hurry…”

    Jim withdrew his fingers from his lover, reveling in the sound of his begging.  Bones’ vulnerability made him more desirable to the Captain.

    McCoy elevated his hips invitingly.  Jim accepted, girdling his arm around the doctor’s slender waist while aligning his sex with Bones’ entrance.

    Spock had since released his nipple and now held him, the tip of his nose brushing against McCoy’s cheek.  The Vulcan’s embrace was almost maternal, so delicate.

   “It is time, Leonard,” Spock declared, his breath warm against the doctor’s skin.  His baritone was soft and deep, reaching into his lover.  He felt Leonard’s hair bristle his cheek as he nodded, resting an arm on Spock’s thigh.

   The doctor wrapped his long legs around Jim, pulling him closer as the other man entered him slowly.  Loud groans tore from McCoy’s throat as their hips rolled rhythmically, their resonances and movement synchronized.

   McCoy suddenly felt a dull throb seeping through his skull, followed by a warmth that touched the side of his neck.  Slowly, the heat intensified, the inferno flowing, pulsating throughout the doctor’s body.  Instantly, an abundance of color flooded his consciousness in heavy streams, stretched and blended, illuminated by its intense glow. 

   And the _fire_!  It should have frightened the doctor, but instead it comforted him.  It engulfed the anxieties and tribulations that once haunted him and cast them into ashes.  His very existence experienced this moment until the hues were eclipsed by unadulterated light…

   When McCoy’s consciousness descended back down into the bedroom, sensations returned to his body in increments.  He flickered his eyes, blinking away the remnants of illumination.  He and Jim’s chests heaved in unison, bodies aching and sticky.  Spock was stretched out on his side, a sheen of sweat glossing his forehead. 

   McCoy released of puff of air, his eyes lifted up to the ceiling.  A fatigued chuckle strolled out of him as he stroked locks of Jim and Spock’s hair.  “Goddamn, Fellas,” the doctor panted.  “We should avoid each other more often.”    

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally done! Thanks to all who followed! Beta by PaintedBird

The late hours had since caused darkness to shutter the room, the clock on the night stand now the sole source of illumination.  Its soft glow fell on the bottom of Jim’s part of the blanket, occasionally moving in waves whenever the Captain’s legs shifted beneath the fabric.

     McCoy remained still, remnants of the meld prickled nerves within his brain.  His thighs ached from the intensity of the lovemaking and mused jokingly that the man damn near crippled him.  He was snapped out his reverie when he felt Jim’s arm tighten around his waist, bringing him slightly closer.  Jim’s warm breath tickled the back of his neck, his light snoring somehow soothing McCoy. Whenever the Captain stirred, a moan tumbled from his throat and the sound purred against the doctor’s skin. 

    On the other side slept Spock, the tip of his nose inches away from the doctor’s. His forearm rested on Jim’s while encircled around McCoy.  He didn’t snore.  If he did, the Vulcan would be absolutely mortified—to McCoy’s amusement. If anything, his Vulcan lover looked peaceful, uninhibited, his breathing even and controlled. Even during his forty winks, he was beautiful, vulnerable. And his natural heat felt like Heaven against McCoy’s bare frame.

    This moment reminded the doctor of the night the three of them slept in a cave during one of their missions and they had to sleep closely against one another to avoid hypothermia.  Jim and Spock girdled their arms around him unknowingly while slumbering, tempering McCoy’s anxiety.  Their warmth was inviting then as it was now.

    A half smile shaped McCoy’s lips.  This was truly happening to him, wasn’t it?  He would not wake up in his room, surrounded by night shade and taunted by vivid dreams.  No sir.  Every touch, kiss, ache, squeeze and tingle was genuine. And the _mind meld?_   Hell, even his wildest imaginings couldn't conjure _that_ up. 

    That was when the revelation dawned on him: There was more where that came from.  Tonight was only the beginning of the truth— _his_ truth.  Of course, he had some explaining to do to certain folks in his life, but his spirit was no longer burdened by secrecy.  For the first time, he lived for _him_.

     He was free.

     McCoy reached out and brushed his finger against Spock’s bangs.  His lover stirred slightly, but remained undisturbed by the doctor’s display of affection.  McCoy sighed tenderly, gazing at the hobgoblin one time before succumbing to slumber.


End file.
